


Secrets you carry

by the_authors_exploits



Series: Feeds on the ego, Swallows the pain [3]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Titans (TV 2018)
Genre: Discussion of Underage Prostitution, Fluff, Gen, a bit of angst, big bro dick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-21
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2020-12-27 19:16:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21123848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_authors_exploits/pseuds/the_authors_exploits
Summary: Dick looks into Jason's history and addresses something disturbing





	Secrets you carry

**Author's Note:**

> There's this steady headcanon I have that Jason, in any universe, most likely had to do terrible things to survive on the streets; this is a brief glimpse into that and how Dick plans to handle that.

Something changes between them after what happened on the roof; Jason, while still full of spunk, is much more open. Not necessarily verbally--he doesn’t come to Dick seeking advice--but he does request sparring matches and when the whole team sits down to a meal Jason scratches his chair closer to Dick.

And that’s something Dick is learning; for all his prickly spines, Jason craves attention and affection. It’s all subtle, clever, the way he interrupts Rachel when she’s talking with Dick, how he says something so off topic when Gar is asking about going to the aquarium that it takes at least ten minutes to get back on track; the kid is satisfied after those little outbursts, smirking and leg bouncing.

Little nudges with his shoulder, a pat on Dick’s back after a well fought victory, a hand up from the ground and an offer for a fist bump. He does it so frequently Dick has even started to offer before Jason can, anticipating; it causes such a bright grin to split across his face that Dick feels like he’s flying towards the sun.

Before he can flip the page in his book it’s snatched away. “Hey!” he cries out, looking up to find Jason scowling at the book cover.

“You can read?”

Dick rolls his eyes; he won’t be getting the book back any time soon. “Of course I can read.”

The kid hums, flops sideways onto the couch and presses his shoulders against Dick’s bicep; he shakes his head out, clears his throat, and settles down. The paper flicks loudly in the living room and Dick picks up the tablet from the coffee table. “I’m surprised; I thought your brain had to be miniscule. You know, trade brains for beauty.”

“What about my brawn?”

“You have none.”

Dick laughs; he hasn’t actually pulled up Jason’s file yet, partially out of fear and partially out of respect for the kid’s privacy. But, he is the Batman’s protege and has learned that information is always important to have. He logs into the batcomputer’s system, happy that while his DNA was removed from the batcave his login was not. At first, he just goes through some of Bruce’s casefiles; there’s some new intel on Black Mask’s gun smuggling, the Joker escaped Arkham--again--for a few days before Batman got him back in line…

There’s a little bit of information on the scuffle with Deathstroke; Dick ignores that file. He lived it, after all; he glances momentarily at his brother. The kid seems fine; he’s relaxed, one leg hanging off the couch towards the ground and the other hoooked over the armrest. He raises his middle finger at the feeling of eyes on him and Dick sticks his tongue out, despite Jason not being able to see it.

Dick goes into the personnel files; Jim Gordon, Barbara Gordon, Dick Grayson, Alfred Pennyworth, and… Jason Todd; Dick hesitates, then clicks it. He’s bombarded with hundreds of links and paperwork: medical files, police records, a family tree, genetic testing… He wonders where to start, decides to go with the earliest dated one.

A birth certificate, little hand prints and foot prints, the weight and date and length; he was a tiny baby, maybe a preemie born August 16th. Despite doctor’s suggestions, he went home early; there’s a brief description of his health. A rattle in his baby lungs, luck that he wasn’t born addicted as the mother showed signs of using…

From there he goes to the medical files; they come from various clinics, some under a pseudonym, scattered far and wide across Gotham’s East End. Bruce had to have done a lot of digging to find these records, to connect them to Jason. There are bruised ribs, a broken wrist, high fevers, and bronchitis at the age of seven. Some medical records overlap with police records; a fight at school, the kid caught shoplifting leading to a night in juvie which meant a medical examination.

Dick’s stomach flips over twice; a teacher made a report about a bruised eye and a cut cheek, but nothing was ever done. He knows child protective services is overburdened, especially in Gotham, but it still digs at his sternum that Jason was one of the many who slipped through the system.

He shifts his hand, ruffles Jason’s hair; the kid ducks away then leans into his touch, huffing. “What was that for?”

Dick doesn’t say anything; his teasing touch turns into gentle brushes and Jason allows it. He turns back to the medical records; there’s lots from abuse, even more evidence of neglect. His weight was under for most of his life, height too; the more recent records--after Bruce took him in--show a steady and quick increase in his health. A long awaited growth spurt with good nourishment and a warm home to sleep in.

Dick leaves those horrors alone but sadly exchanged one set of horrors for another; the police records are even sadder… Shoplifting, fist fights, disorderly conduct…

Dick thinks he’s going to lose his lunch when he reads the words  _ prostitution _ . He moves forward, to leave the couch, and Jason cranes his neck to catch sight of him.

“S’matter?”

Dick stands, leaves the tablet on the couch cushion, and rushes into the kitchen; he spits into the garbage, chokes on bile, spits again. He coughs and hacks, rinses his mouth out at the sink, breathes deeply to settle his nerves; he can’t face Jason without being in control. One last deep breath gets him ready to face his kid brother.

The living room is stifling; there’s a weight of doom hanging in the air and Dick stops in his tracks. Jason is holding the tablet in his hands, head bowed low and finger brushing the page; his shoulders are tense, foot bouncing on his toes fast and irritated. Dick hadn’t locked the tablet before he left to thow up.

“Jason…”

“Don’t,” he bites out but doesn’t look up from the tablet.

“Don’t what?”

He glances up, eyes icy; he turns back to the tablet in his hands. “Don’t talk to me in that tone; like you pity me.”

“I,” he swallows, “I don’t. Pity you.”

The kid scoffs; his foot bounces faster. “Sure you do; you’ve got that tragic look in your eyes like I’m something broken. I know I am, you didn’t need to know too.”

“You’re not broken, Jay.” Dick inches closer, kneels in front of Jason, sets a hand on his fidgeting knee. “I don’t think you’re broken; I just wish you didn’t have to go through what you did.”

Slowly his leg stops bouncing; he’s deathly still and won’t meet Dick’s eyes. “You could’ve just asked me, ya know; didn’t have to go reading through my records like some stalker.”

“Would you have told me everything?”

His dull gaze turns into a glare and Dick wisely takes his hand back. “I would’ve told you what I was comfortable with.”

Dick mulls over that; it’s not very likely that he would’ve been told anything. Talking emotions with Jason is like pulling teeth. Dick takes a breath. “Okay, you’re right; I should’ve asked, should have talked to you. I’m sorry.” Dick folds his legs criss cross and squares his shoulders. “So let’s start again, okay? Are you willing to tell me stuff? About your past?”

“No,” Jason bites; his jaw twitches and Dick is the epitome of patient in this moment, waiting quietly. Jason rolls his eyes and resettles on the couch, huffing in annoyance. “I grew up in Crime Alley; Mom was addicted, Dad worked in a gang. The lowest rung on the ladder, so when something fucked up whose fault do you think it was?”

“Your father’s.”

“My father’s.” Jason shrugs, but there’s no meaning to it; Dick keeps his face carefully schooled. This is a precarious situation and Dick hopes he’s doing this right. “They shot him on our doorstep; I don’t think the stain was ever washed out. Mom got sicker after that; and with Dad not there to bring in money I had to step up. Take care of her.”

Dick nods. “Is that when…?”

Jason smirks; his eyes dull. “Yup! You’d be surprised how many people go for a scrawny 10 year old.”

The pity is replaced with rage; Dick half wishes he had Kori’s powers. Enough to rain hellfire down on the scum of Gotham. He’s jolted from his dark thoughts by Jason’s laughter, loud and rackus. He blinks. “What?”

Jason calms down, wipe humor from his eyes. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you make that face before.”

Dick keeps it light, following Jason’s lead. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this angry before.”

For a moment they just sit in silence; Jason’s foot starts dancing again and Dick loosely grips at his ankle, hoping it offers an anchor. Jason stops his movements, bites at the inside of his cheek, rubs the cuticle of his thumb.

“Would you want to talk to someone?”

A half shrug. “I dunno; I haven’t thought about that in a while. It happened but things are different now, ya know?” Jason rubs his nose. “Bruce is nice; and I’m Robin now. I’m untouchable.” A grin breaks out over his face and he puffs his chest out. “You know it gives me magic, right?”

Dick smiles. “It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it; but if you ever do, it’s okay too. I’ll find you a good therapist; you know, Black Canary was our counselor when we first started Titans.”

Jason doesn’t say much to that; Dick still has a hold of his ankle, so he starts tugging. Jason slumps down the couch, kicking out with his other foot playfully, and Dick slowly brings him down to the floor. They’re bickering back and forth, Jason calling him pretty boy like an insult.

“I wear that title with pride!” Dick throws Jason over his shoulder, tossing him onto the floor and grabbing at his sides with wiggling fingers. “I’m a beautiful man!”

Jason shrieks with laughter; their book is left open on the coffee table, the tablet forgotten, and the trauma is for now left unaddressed. Later, they’ll face it; later, Dick will call Dinah up and ask her to pay the tower a visit. But already he thinks they’ve made a lot of progress.

Jason presses a hand against Dick’s chest, fitting his shin between them to throw the older one off, and now it’s Dick who’s being attacked by the fishing fingers. He laughs, catching Jason unawares with a ruffle to his hair, and the boy ducks away; their little wrestling match ends on that note, both panting from their laughter and exertion, and Dick flops a hand over his eyes.

“You gonna take a nap, old man?”

Dick hums; there’s still so much to talk about, the abuse by his father’s hands and the neglect of his mother… Any other traumas he may be willing to address. Baby steps; they have to walk before they can run. He hears Jason’s clothing shuffle, the book pulled from the table, and he squints to check; the kid is crawling over on his hands and knees, with the book cradled delicately to his chest, and settles down next to Dick.

He’s becoming a familiar weight against Dick; at dinner, during movie time, whenever he goes down for a nap… He’s alright with that; they fit together pretty well, after all, big brother and little brother trekking through life side by side.


End file.
